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“Are either of you hungry?” he asks. “Sometimes trauma does that. Makes us hungry. Or not. I’ll put out one of the board things your mom loves to make with all the crackers and stuff on it, yeah?”
I don’t stop him. I know he’s doing his best to be helpful. He starts pulling out boxes of crackers and cookies. He finds two blocks of random cheese in the fridge, breaks up a couple of chocolate bars, fills a bowl with nuts and another with pretzels, and sets it on the counter in front of us.
Clover picks up a cracker and nibbles on it.
“The police said they’re going to stop by in the morning again to get any additional details they need from the two of you about what happened. Gabriel has been officially charged with violating the order of protection you filed.” My dad raps on the counter. “If you need any help with legal advice, I can give you my lawyer’s number.”
Clover nods. “I have a divorce lawyer I’ve been working with.”
My dad bites the inside of his cheek. “No offense, Clover, but since you’re still fighting to get that divorce you so clearly want, it might be time to switch things up. Not saying you need to decide that right now after the night you’ve had, but, uh, I have someone on retainer who could probably help expedite things for you.”
“Maybe we could talk about that later, Dad?” I suggest.
“Yeah. Of course. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I just . . . I know how important you are to Maverick, and I want to keep you both safe.”
A buzz sounds, and Dad pulls his phone from his back pocket. “That’s your mom.”
“You haven’t told her about this, have you?” I ask, suddenly on high alert.
He gives me a look. “Not a chance in hell. The only thing your mother knows is that you’ve been offered a spot at training camp and we’re in discussions. She’s got enough to deal with keeping your sister calm while Kody’s here. The less she knows right now, the better. Kody and BJ know not to say anything, and I’ve already talked to Rook and Lainey and your aunt and uncle, so they’ll keep an eye on those boys. The police aren’t offering information to local outlets for twenty-four hours. The important part is that everyone is safe. I’m just going to take this.” He clears his throat and brings the phone to his ear. “How’s my beautiful wife? You and the kids having a good time?”
He squeezes my shoulder and heads down the hall toward his office.
I turn and press a kiss to Clover’s temple. “How you hanging in there?”
“Nashville called you up.”
I can’t read her tone or her expression. “Yeah. But I’m not making any decisions about that right now. And we can talk about it later, okay? You and your well-being are the top priority.”
She nods slowly, and I have to wonder how much of this she’s really processing.
I tuck her hair behind her ear. “You okay, sweetheart?”
She leans into my touch, seeking comfort maybe. “This all feels so surreal. I don’t want to think about what could have happened, but it’s hard not to let your mind go there.”
“We need to get a proper security system set up at your place before you move in there for good,” I tell her.
“That’s a good idea.” She takes another sip of her tea. “Is it okay if I lie down? I’m exhausted in a way I can’t describe.”
“Of course.” I take her upstairs to my bedroom, help her into one of my T-shirts, and lie down beside her.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, snuggling into my side.
“For what?”
“For coming into my life. For teaching me that I’m stronger than I think. For saving me.”
“I didn’t save you. You saved yourself.”
“Because you taught me how.”
I kiss her softly and stroke her hair until she falls asleep.
When I’m sure she’s out, I head back downstairs to check on my dad. He’s a lot like me in that he’ll go into fix-the-problem mode right away, but it doesn’t mean the gravity of this isn’t going to hit him eventually.
I find him sitting in the living room, flipping one of the many paper cranes I’ve made over the past two days between his fingers. A glass of scotch sits on the table beside him. My dad isn’t a big drinker. Mostly he reserves scotch for holidays and parties. Sometimes he’ll kick back and have a beer with dinner, and of course there’s the dock days of summer, but the good scotch is usually reserved for special occasions.
“How is she doing?” he asks.
